Midgar Grafitti
by MuddyWolf
Summary: Hojo faces off against AVALANCHE on the Sister Ray platform. Written with the usual bias.


Legal Stuff: FFVII is Squaresoft's. Rated: PG for violence. ;

12/4/05

Midgar Grafitti

By Blue9Tiger

Thunder ripped the sky overhead, heavy with Mako-bloated clouds. A burst of white rent through the wind. Something that looked like water—you guessed it was water but it was only a guess--- pounded on the thick steel of the platform. They waited. Their

target had emptied the syringe. A few drops of the fluid clung to the inside of the tube.

The rest was turning the man's skin---- if you could call it that, a deep shade of green.

Behind the thick lenses, the eyes burned the same cruel hue as the son's.

They waited, their weapons drawn. The one cloaked in scarlet did not attempt to conceal the murderous glare in his red eyes---after all, HE had given him these urges, this bestial rage, this inhumanity---AND he had given life to Sephiroth, when for thirty years he rotted in that coffin blaming himself---

Vincent lunged forward, a snarl infused with lethal hate ripping from his throat. That too, the bastard had changed—he warped it---called an improvement. The silky,

sensual voice that seduced many a girl those long years ago was now a harsh growl.

And he kept laughing. AVALANCHE assaulted him and his comrades from all sides. The Mako-gorged blood of Bad Rap and Poodler coated the metallic ground in luminous green.Their shrieks of agony rang in unison with the roar of thunder overhead. The thing in human shape reeled about drunkenly as they stabbed through his heart, filled his skull with bullets, and bit through his throat, the rain and wind swirling about him, glowing from his blood. He was tranquil, crazed, but calm. This conflict was an experiment. It would be best to not unecessarily expend energy to avoid the inevitable. Besides, he WANTED to be damaged just to the near brink of expiration…and then those reckless fools would see why the perfect being was one that had JENOVA in its veins…

Cloud held his sword on the ground in front of him, panting. Hojo was still standing, his lower jaw hanging painfully from his face, an eye missing, his flesh

crispy from someone's Fire3, his heart dangling from the giant hole in his chest from a few vessels. Vincent raised his gun at this pathetic twitching creature, still grinning with peaceful malice. Smoke and fire burst from the gun and the bullet penetrated what was now a hideous twisting mass of purple muscle. Still smiling, the mouth stretched into something hideous, the dark gums shrank against sharp teeth, gleaming with enhanced cruelty. A rain of blood spattered the metal: the monster's vertebrae tore through the newly formed hide on its neck. Its left arm, that had so recently been a semi-human hand, at least it had human shape---planted the disgusting creature on slippery metal. The free arm, brimming with venom, projected into the sky. The disfigured heart, now triple its size, throbbed in full view of AVALANCHE.

While Hojo had taunted them quietly, it was—however hateful, proof that he was almost human. They had gone easy on him. It was hard not to: someone unarmed, uuresisting---it was so much easier to mutilate something that was trying to kill you.

Now was the time. The thing was still calm, but the scraps of humanity it had was gone. That sound it made, it was the snarl of the beast. An animal. No different from the Bandersnatch they would catch and kill to cook for dinner. Again they charged, and attacked themselves as a vision of a fat Chocobo danced dizzily about their heads. The maddening roar of a chainsaw as the subject ripped through bones and cartilage, drowning in the blood that fountained from the walls of vessels. Fire3 raged unceasingly, a black poison oozed through the flames. The monster defended itself jerkily, stabbing with its claws, inflicting its poison into the vulnerable lifeforms.

The hours dragged on. The blood poured. And through the blinding of haze of its own life source seeping in the eyeballs atop its deformed head it wondered vaguely if Sephiroth was grateful for his sacrifice.

But—how ridiculous….what sacrifice? It had bled them, poisoned them, and would have impaled them---if the miserable failure hadn't finally cleaved its left arm from its body.

So the creature reformed again, this time in the parody of human shape. It was much smaller, but moved so swiftly the sword was too bulky to hack its body into pieces and even the bullet wasn't fast enough to pierce the now-levitating lifeform, this alien-like creature that still was no less of a beast. It growled, the very nature of the sound marring the scientist's mocking tone.

The struggle wore on. This time it was assured: it would defeat these simple-

minded children. Sephiroth would be free to carry out his design on the world. How hypocritical they were, really…claiming themselves to be the protectors of the Planet, planning to save it from destruction, and yet to do that paving the road to their nemesis with corpses..! How amusing…

And then they at last began to wear it down. It slowed down enough that Cloud could get enough breathing space to down an Antidote and chop Hojo in two. The regeneration took longer: the expression in the thing's face had changed completely. Its mouth twisted into a snarl. It lost all its coolness, its anticipation of triumph. It suddenly, abruptly---Hojo was a peculiar, opaque sort of entity, whose full dimensions could not be realized by one kind of all-encompassing temperament--- became as lethally ferocious as Vincent's. Indeed, Vincent and his rotating head—looked unnervingly calm. The crimson eyes narrowed into slits into one could peer into hell, and the thing surged forward in a bleeding fury, slashing wildly with claws and tentacle, in the desperation of the parent who was about to lose its child. It was berserk. But this final effort to save Sephiroth was in vain: AVALANCHE easily dodged the now-undirected movements, and the last shriek that erupted from its torn-open throat rent the sky.

They left the Sister Ray platform a grisly painting of red and green and violet. The

mangled corpse of the gray-and-yellow mutant, stretched out in the graffiti drawn in blood, spelled the end for the one-winged angel.


End file.
